


Dante's Inferno: Kitchen Level

by SenTheSeventh



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bad Cooking, Cooking, Fluff, Gen, Humor, It counts as fluff if there's no stabbing, The Sparda are bad at cooking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:18:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19411588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenTheSeventh/pseuds/SenTheSeventh
Summary: “The first thing to remember,” Dante says solemnly, “is that we’re absolutely not qualified for this.”In a fit of madness, optimism, or both, Dante and Vergil attempt to cook for Nero.





	Dante's Inferno: Kitchen Level

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by the ever-patient and awesome [Sootandshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootandshadow/pseuds/sootandshadow)!
> 
> Dedicated to the very kind Aloe! I hope you'll enjoy my attempt at writing fluff.

“The first thing to remember,” Dante says solemnly, “is that we’re absolutely not qualified for this.”

“You were the one who said you wanted to cook for Nero’s birthday, weren’t you?” Vergil points out.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d refuse!”

“Yet here I am. Being unexpected.” Vergil’s face shows nothing, but Dante doesn’t need some mystical twin bond to feel his utter, gloating self-satisfaction.

Dante sighs heavily, quite offended at having lost this round. Of course, Vergil and him (somewhat) get along now, but it doesn’t mean they’re not going to compete at every chance they get.

“Come on, let’s work on the kid’s birthday poisoning.”

He surveys the results of their shopping spree with a critical eye. Vergil skimmed through a cookbook to get an idea of the process, and they bought what seemed to be the most common items: flour, meat, eggs, fruits, vegetables, salt and sugar.

“Let’s find a recipe we like,” Vergil suggests.

“We already had this conversation, Vergil. You want to do all the hardest ones.”

“What’s the point of cooking if you do something he can eat at home?”

“Your ambition will be your downfall, Vergil.”

“Your lack of drive will be the root of your stagnation, Dante.”

They exchange a smirk.

They attack at the same time, falling easily into the familiar dance, until Vergil accidentally kicks Dante through the door. The wood shatters and the demon hunter flies through his office – straight into the arms of Trish, who had jumped up to catch him.

“Appreciate the gallantry,” he thanks her politely. “Didn’t know you were here.”

She spares a glance at Vergil, who crosses his arms. His twin is kinda bad at sharing his attention; every time there’s more than one person, he closes himself off and broods in the background.

“I was about to borrow one of your devil arms.” Trish smiles charmingly. “You don’t use them all, do you? I had my eyes on this pretty knife.”

She’s pointing at the wall, toward a two-handed claymore lined with thorny feelers who was originally… some demon. A big plant thing… Name began with a B. Or a D? Anyway, Dante smiles and nods as she lets him down.

“Eh, take it.”

“I don’t think so,” Vergil interrupts.

Trish’s smile tightens and she raises an eyebrow. Dante does so too, though admittedly with less poise.

“What gives, brother?”

“Check the hilt.”

Trish steps forwards and narrows her eyes.

“There’s ‘Vergil’ written on it.”

Dante joins her, and damn if she isn’t right: Vergil’s name has been inscribed in blood-like ink on the leathery scales of the hilt.

“Vergil!”

“This is one of the devil arms I bought from you, brother. Remember? To assist you in paying off your debts.”

Vergil is painting himself as the noble savior here, but Dante actually know that he just likes gloating. And reminding him that he’s maybe a bit bad with money.

“I _know_. I didn’t think you still wrote your name on your possessions, or that you’d do it on magical artifacts.”

“It turns out to be necessary when your brother gives out prized possessions like candies.”

“Well, Trish, look through the shop and take whatever doesn’t have Vergil’s name on it. We’re busy cooking a birthday lunch for Nero.”

“With violence?”

“I prefer to call it ‘the Sparda way,’” Dante corrects her.

She chuckles. Dante joins Vergil in the kitchen. His brother is looking through the cookbook, frowning at a recipe that looks just too damn complicated to be seen outside of a restaurant.

“What d’ya have in mind?” Dante asks.

“Pot-au-feu.”

“The name alone sounds like a pain.”

“A challenge, brother.”

“Crazy man. We haven’t even _started_ and we already broke a door.”

Vergil smirks, which is his way of laughing. Dante hasn’t lost all hope of hearing his brother laugh for real, but he knew from the start that Vergil would need time to remember how to show unguarded happiness. It’s been a few decades since he saw the need to, after all.

“Do you have a suggestion, Dante?”

Dante skims through the book until he finds what look like the simplest recipe.

“Meatballs?”

“It looks disgusting.”

“How about a compromise?” Trish suggests, waving a scissor-like scythe that Dante doesn’t remember ever owning.

Vergil narrows his eyes at her. “What do you mean?” His voice isn’t as aggressive as it would be with Lady. Trish commands a measure of respect from him. Maybe it’s the resemblance to their mom?

“Recipes are a matter of proportion, right? So why not go with a little of column A, a little of column B? If one asks for one egg, and the other for three, you put two in. Get the best of both worlds.”

This is actually genius. Dante must admit, he’s impressed. He looks at Vergil, who nods with all the gravitas demanded by the task they’re undertaking.

“Okay. I think I got a pen somewhere… And there’s still a pizza box on my desk –”

“You’ve got pens in your left drawer and a stack of _normal_ paper right under it.”

“You’ve got to stop rearranging my things, brother. How ever will I find them now?”

“The same way you did previously: searching everywhere because you forgot where they are.”

“I may have to teach you to respect my space,” Dante says lightly.

“ _You_ , teaching me –”

“More cooking and less fighting,” Trish cuts in. “Isn’t the kid’s birthday tomorrow?”

“We can handle ourselves,” Vergil snaps.

“Mm.” Trish looks at the mix of gun and sword she had just picked up, finds what is probably Vergil’s name on it, and puts it back with a grimace. Did Dante really sell so many of his devil arms to his twin? He should probably pay more attention to those things. He can’t help it if money bores him so much.

Vergil fetches the pen and paper and they create a grand compromise recipe. It turns out that meatballs and pot-au-feu are actually not cooked the same – one requires a pan, and the other a pot. They’ll jump through that hoop when they get there: for now, they’re just going to try to smash it all together.

“There isn’t any flour in either recipe,” Dante points out, a bit disappointed.

“Add one hundred grams of it. We are unsure of the cooking method and from what I read, flour makes things hold together.”

“Good idea! And sugar?”

“I’m not that fond of sweet and savory. Maybe one or two fruits.”

“For once, Vergil, I love your ideas.”

Dante gets a lopsided smile. They try to mix ingredients in a way that makes sense, following what they can of the recipes. They don’t quite have the right vegetables and spices, but they add what looks the most similar.

Vergil is peeling potatoes and Dante is cutting pears when Lady enters the shop.

“Hello! Hey, what’s that’s smell? Healthy food? What’s the occasion, did someone die?”

“Dante and Vergil are cooking something for Nero,” Trish informs her.

She sounds distracted. She’s currently sorting through the weapons Dante deemed dangerous enough to deserve a few seals.

Lady snorts. “What did the kid do to deserve it?”

“He earned their affection.”

Vergil twitches irritatedly near Dante. Part of his dumbass brother still feels like saying he _likes_ someone is a blight on his honor.

“Poor bastard. He’s doomed,” Lady declares.

“Stop your clowning around,” Vergil growls.

Dante doesn’t even have to look to feel Lady bristling from his twin’s tone.

“Yeah, we’re _cooking_ here,” he adds hastily. “Real good food, too. Pot-au-feu meatball.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” She demands, distracted from her anger – or kind enough to take the bait.

“We mashed the recipes for pot au feu and meatballs to make kind of a mix of the two.” Dante beams at her.

“What? Those are very different recipes! What did you _do_?”

That voice is the voice of a woman who knows how to cook. Dante lets her take a look at their custom recipe.

She’s very distinctly trying not to laugh. Luckily, Vergil’s bad enough at reading others that it doesn’t look like he realizes it.

“So, your expert opinion?” Dante asks.

“There’re so many things – first, why are you cutting pears? And this one looks rotten.”

Dante looks at the fruits he’s cutting up. “The soft one?”

“The _rotten_ one, yeah. Didn’t you check your fruits and vegetables?”

“If they’re out for sale, it means they’re edible, right?”

She rubs her temples, biting back a smile that is part amusement and part exasperation.

“But they’re not always good. And: why _pears_?”

“We’re adding a sweet and savory twist to the stuff.”

“You,” she begins, and then she seems to give up. “No. Don’t.”

“We’ll do whatever we want with our cooking,” Vergil establishes coldly.

“Listen, big guy, I’m not that much of a cook, but what you did, what you’re doing – I don’t know how to salvage it.”

“You don’t have anything to salvage,” Vergil retorts. “It’s fine.”

Asking Lady for help will probably be perceived as a grave betrayal. Still, Dante’d prefer if the result of their work was at least somewhat edible…

Decisions, decisions.

In the end, Vergil wins, because Dante is only partially an asshole who wants to jostle his brother’s ego a bit, but not too much. He grins apologetically at Lady.

“You know, no better way to learn than through practice!”

“You’re both –”

She stops herself, because Lady is a lovely woman who knows that Dante will be very sad if she rouses Vergil into a duel (which she is always a step away from doing, because Lady knows no fear and always stands her ground; two characteristics which are both her best and worst qualities).

“– Stubborn,” she censors herself. “Why didn’t you ask the kid’s girlfriend for help? She looks like the motherly type, she must know his favorite recipe.”

She rolls her eyes at the way they look at her.

“You know you don’t have to do everything alone, right?”

Vergil shrugs. Dante laughs. She mutters something and put her fists on her hips.

“Anyway! I wanted to borrow one of your books, Dante.”

“Ask Vergil if he wrote his name in them,” Trish suggests from the backroom.

“Not yet,” Vergil answers, smirking. “Soon.”

Dante should really be more careful about his money.

“Careful with it,” he says in his firmest tone. Gotta remind them who is, technically, the master of the house.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lady answers with a complete lack of proper respect. “So it’s Nero’s birthday, huh? He’s coming today?”

“Yep.”

“I’m going to get him a present. I’ll be back!”

She leaves. Dante looks at his brother and shrugs.

“So… We fry it?”

“It would soften in the sauce. We boil it _then_ we fry it.”

This is actually more fun than expected, cooking with Vergil. They actually _agree_ on stuff! What a new and exciting prospect.

“Boiling and frying it is, then.”

Dante has to argue a long time to be given the right to do it, but he manages to convince Vergil to put some mozzarella on the result of their labor before they fry it.

***

Nero’s careful expression does not change when he bites into the meatball. He chews slowly, taking in the flavor.

He didn’t choke the second he puts it into his mouth, which Dante counts as a victory. Vergil is reading in the armchair, pretending he doesn’t care. Lady and Trish are sitting on the edge of the sofa, looking at Nero with rapt attention; Nico, vibrating from excitement in her chair, awaits her turn to eat with flattering (or worrying) impatience.

Nero swallows eventually and smiles with what Dante suspects is surprise.

“That’s… actually good.”

Dante fingerguns at Lady, who rolls her eyes in disgust. Nero takes another bite.

“Is that pear? I like sweet and savory.”

Dante attempts to high-five Vergil, who just looks at his hand in disdain. He settles for the next best thing: poking him in the ribs. Vergil elbows him back.

“No fighting!” Nero barks.

They settle reluctantly.

“It would be rude to go against the birthday boy’s wishes, I suppose,” Vergil mumbles.

His brother just can’t admit that the kid’s got a hold on them.

“It’s really good,” Nero says in a softer voice. He looks at his plate. “Thank you. For doing this for me. I really appreciate it.”

He’s blushing! His nephew really is the cutest demon hunter Dante has ever seen. He’d pat him on the head, but the kid punches him when Dante does that. And claws now, too.

“Happy you like it, Nero.”

“I want a serving,” Nico demands. “Gimme!”

“I’d be interested in a taste,” Trish concurs.

Lady rolls her eyes and finally smiles.

“If Nico doesn’t keel over, I’m tasting this.”

“Your lack of trust wounds me.”

“We’re the only two humans in this room, and it’s hard to hunt demons with an upset stomach,” she retorts.

Which is a good point that Dante can concede, so he does, sitting with his brother, as the others each takes a serving. Nico wolves it down, Trish appreciates the exoticism, and Lady says nothing, which is probably a compliment.

“Want a serving?” Nero offers, ladle already in hand.

Vergil opens his mouth to refuse; he’s just too lazy to eat human food. Dante smiles at Nero and discreetly presses his brother’s hand.

“Well, it _is_ a family celebration, huh?”

Vergil nods softly.

“Thank you, Nero”

The kid grins, pleased, and rubs his nose when he realizes the obviousness of his joy. Vergil accepts his plate with what is almost a smile.

Dante takes his own serving and tastes it.

Too sweet, maybe.

Still: tastes a bit like pizza. Mozzarella was an awesome idea.

“We should cook again, huh Vergil?”

“We should.” Vergil nods.

His brother. Still unexpected, sometimes.

Dante grins.

He’s more than okay with that kind of unexpected.

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another gen humor fic focusing of the Sparda and food, but what can I say? Vergil spent eight years under his mother's care, ten or so surviving and being obsessed with gaining his father's power, then he was corrupted an in hell, then he was regenerating from his "death"/wandering the Earth while dying. I refuse to believe he ever cooked his own food.
> 
> As for Dante, he's just too lazy to care.
> 
> Wishing you all a lovely day!


End file.
